


Sunrise

by animasevera



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6992554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animasevera/pseuds/animasevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a mage in Kinloch Hold means missing many things even the lowliest of servants take for granted. Zevran finds himself wanting to remedy this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunrise

A sliver of sunlight at last found its way into Albine's tent, passing over her eyes far too early for her comfort.  
  
"Nnn..." she groaned into the pelt she had used as a pillow, burying her face into it.  
  
She barely had the chance to take a breath before an unknown set of fingertips curled around her shoulder, bearing a feather-light touch.  
  
"Say, my Warden..." came a voice that was _much_ more well known. "Might I have a moment of your time?" Zevran asked, barely above a whisper.  
  
The Warden answered with a noncommittal grunt, rolling over. "...Piss off."  
  
The corner of Zevran's eyebrow twitched, but he was undaunted. "Please, dear lady," he requested, stooping to his knees by her bedroll. "I believe this is something you may wish to see."  
  
At last, she lifted her head until she could see the elf looking back at her, his eyes bright with wakefulness. "...Ugh, make it quick," she groaned, brushing a clump of tangled white hair from her eyes. She was ill prepared to face the morning, having not slept well at all.  
  
The sight of the Warden in such a state of disarray brought a fondly amused smile to the assassin's lips. "My, you are looking radiant this fine morning," he offered a gentle compliment as he began to part the tent flaps.  
  
"Yeah, yeah." She was still too exhausted to completely process his words. "Now what is this about?" she asked, barely bothering to wrap herself in a pelt as she crawled over to join him.  
  
The elf made a small "hmm" sound, taking a comfortable seat just outside and stretching his arms out behind him until his shoulders popped. "You have said," he began, meeting her eyes just enough to acknowledge. "You have never had the chance to watch the sun rise, yes?"  
  
Almost instantly, Albine's heart skipped a beat - so _that_ was his intent. Now, she just wanted to crawl back under her bedroll to hide the blush forming on her cheeks. "Y-yeah. I-I mean no. I...I /haven't/...watched the sun rise. No."  
  
Zevran answered with a warm chuckle. "Warden, my sweet, you are stuttering again."  
  
"I-I am not!" Albine snapped, her gaze suddenly shifting away from him. "I-I'm just...tired, still."  
  
The grin on his face widened further. "Ah, I see. So you have not been rendered unable to speak by my irresistible charm, I--aah, you are cruel!" he whined, as a sudden cold air blew over the bare tips of his ears, making them go numb and his teeth chatter for a moment. "W-what have I done to d-de--"  
  
"Look who's stuttering now," the exhausted Warden mused, dryly, as she drew back her mana and warmed the air again. "Now's not really the time for this, Zev...I've barely slept all week."  
  
He found himself suddenly seized by an urge to yawn. "Mmm...yes, I have felt this as well. I find that the embrace of slumber is hard to come by. In Antiva, my usual remedy was a hot meal, some ale, a session of..." His lips pursed, and his eyes bore that unmistakable glance of lewd thoughts. "...personal leisure, shall we say."  
  
"...Bit more than I needed to know," Albine remarked, an edge on her tongue.  
  
This brought Zevran to a burst of full laughter. "You say that as if it's something you do not know already." His expression became a touch more sober, but still bore good will. "After all, we do all have our natural urges, which must be addressed at some time, no?"  
  
He said it as if he knew her, but she could not connect. "...I wouldn't know, I've never had those...urges." Somehow, actually saying this aloud did not feel as uncomfortable as she had expected, as if she could be open with the assassin about it. He had certainly presented himself as being open, at least on this front.  
  
His eyebrows peaked with curiosity, but soon bowed with sympathy, and his lip drew out into a mild pout. "Never, you say?" Softly, he clicked his tongue. "Maker, dear woman...good food, music, sex, and even the very sunrise...you have been denied so much pleasure in your life." There was a new softness in his voice - pity, perhaps. "And all because you are a mage? Mmm...that is truly a shame." With a soft shake of his head and a gentle smile, he scooted a bit closer to her. "Ah, but those times are past, yes? You are free from the Chantry's leash, at last." He could already imagine her protesting with reason of her mission. "Indeed, the duties of a Warden call you now, but surely we shall not be ambushed by the Archdemon--" As he heard his own words and considered them, he burst into a brief chuckle. "...at all, actually. I mean, who is going to miss a great tainted dragon, even _without_ two Grey Wardens there to give the rest of us fair warning?"  
  
Albine let out a soft chuff that faded into a sigh. "Maker, I can't focus on anything /but/ that bloody dragon. I had enough trouble sleeping _before_ getting involved with the Wardens." It showed quite obviously on her face, in the way that her eyelids seemed to perpetually droop halfway shut. "Do we really have the time and the money for this, though?"  
  
Zevran's smile grew wider, and a sliver of it actually managed to reach his eyes. "Not having the time is precisely why you should enjoy it _now_. And the coin one must spend is negligible at best. All of these things I have mentioned may be found right here without ever lightening your purse." A sweep of his hand directed her eyes to the space beyond the tent, though as he peered through the slit, the sight he caught made his eyes light up. "...Ah, my dear Warden," he addressed her, his voice soft with something nearly peaceful as he offered a hand for her to take. "Come and join me. The sun has a busy day ahead, no? He cannot wait for we frivolous mortals to pay him an audience."  
  
The lighthearted nature of his words succeeded in charming the Warden closer. She took a seat close by him, peering out of the tent flap. "Alright, alright, I'll humor--..." The sight she beheld made her fall into stunned silence.  
  
The bright, pale disc of the sun was peering just over the horizon, bathing the land in its rays and casting out a golden halo. The clouds that dappled the blue morning sky scattered the sunlight into a palette of pinks and purples. The sky itself, closest to the horizon, bore a lavender glow.  
  
Albine's eyes grew saucer-wide - she wanted to comment, but all her magic could conjure up no words to describe the beauty of this particular sunrise. She could only let her mouth fall slightly agape. Slowly, her vision drifted back over to Zevran. The sun had lined his skin with a golden glow that traced the contours of his face. The corner of his lips had turned up in something that was less his usual smirk and more a true, serene smile. His eyes, half-lidded against the morning light, bore a soft amber glow. "...Maker's breath," she finally said, when speech returned to her.  
  
"How lovely it is, no?" Zevran's tone was softer now, as he returned her glance, though there was wistfulness in his eyes. "Back in Antiva, I would climb to the highest eaves in the city in the hours before dawn and wait for sunrise..." The memories played back to him, causing him to sigh with nostalgia and lean back into the tent. "Ah, but this sunrise pales in comparison to those back home. The sky would be aflame in red and gold, the sun's rays reaching down over lush meadows and bountiful vineyards." A brief, sobering thought made him sigh. "I would savor every one I saw as if it were my last...it very well could have been, after all, considering my line of work. To wake up the next morning, to see the sun one more time..." his voice took an edge of melancholy. "You must never take it for granted."  
  
There was a certain profoundness in his words that silenced Albine completely, and she gazed back out at the sun. "...Antiva sounds beautiful," she remarked, if only to lighten the mood in the air. "Do you miss it?"  
  
A sudden pang shot through the elf's heart, and his gaze pulled away from her to stare at the sun. "...Ah," he finally answered, his shoulders slowly sinking with his breath. "How could I not? She is my home, after all." _Home_ , he had said, but it was a hollow word inside him. "Home" was a place one could at least return to again. The sweetest memories of what he could never have drifted back to the surface of his mind. "The marketplace in Antiva City was always bustling. Merchants, selling all manner of their wares...minstrels, playing their lillos and lyres...breathtakingly beautiful women, the like of which are seen nowhere else in the land..." His heart was growing heavy and full with saudade, and it showed in the way his ears drooped. "The fish, caught fresh in the harbor...the warmth of the wind from the bakery in the square...trees in the orchards, their branches heavy and laden with fruit, and--oh." His train of thought was sharply interrupted by his rumbling stomach. "Hmm...it seems I have grown rather peckish--no, no, I take that back. I am absolutely _famished._ What about you, my Warden?"  
  
She had been lost somewhere in her imaginings of Zevran's homeland when his question called her back to reality. "I...suppose so. Should I set up a fire?" Without waiting for his answer, she dutifully gathered up some branches.  
  
Her eagerness to volunteer help left the assassin pleasantly surprised - he had intended to head over to the campfire. "You would set it up right here?" he asked as he began searching around his locus. "...Hmm. I am not equipped to hunt, but..." His eyes lit up as if a torch had ignited behind them. "...Fish is not out of the question."  
  
His mention of fish reminded Albine of what she had stored away from last night. "Check the icebox," she directed him, "It's behind the tent." A spark of mana flew from her fingertips, and a fire roared to life in the newly created fire pit.  
  
The very idea of an icebox raised the elf's brows, but he made his way behind the tent as instructed, there finding a chest that looked to be of dwarven make. It was what he found inside, however, that truly surprised him - the walls were icy cold, even having built up a layer of frost. No doubt, the result of some kind of magic. Rather than try to contemplate the method of its function, he let out an impressed whistle as he took hold of the fish - it, too, was cold, and, as he noted, quite well preserved for having been caught two days ago. The faint smell of raw fish hit his sensitive nostrils again, prompting him to make haste back to the fire pit.  
  
By now, Albine had set up the spit. "Ah, good, you didn't get lost back there," she offered a rather lighthearted jibe as she moved out of the way to let him work. "Nice icebox, yeah?"  
  
Zevran wanted to raise an eyebrow at her attempt at humor, but was able to find a convincing enough laugh. "Ah, it would be a shame if I did, though, no? Dying of starvation on the way to find its remedy." As he mounted the fish onto the spit, he gave the Warden a lightly flirtatious look. "Though, I imagine my chances of survival to be higher if a certain Grey Warden were to search for me in the treacherous lands of Behind Her Tent." He now made himself comfortable near the fire, giving himself to its warm embrace as he began to turn the fish over it.  
  
She gave a shrug, followed by an amused smile that tucked its corners into her cheeks. "The way you make it sound, you'd never have made it back without me." As she watched the fish cook, she rose to her feet, staggering a bit from persisting fatigue. "Need any more help?"  
  
Her offer alone inspired his appreciation. "I _need_ nothing more," he asserted, "But I am grateful for your assistance." Already, he could hear the sizzling of meat beginning, and it was enough to make his stomach ache with want. "On second thought, would you mind bringing me my pack from inside the tent? It seems I have left my...secret weapon there."  
  
"...Secret weapon?" Albine raised an incredulous, mildly accusatory brow, but humor had not left her. "...Are you still trying to kill me?" she asked, half in jest.  
  
The question brought a nearly roaring laugh out of the assassin as he turned the spit again. "Not unless you count the fact that anything I put it on is to die for." A lighter chuckle broke through his words. "My talent for mixing poisons has a much less deadly - and more delectable - use. You see, this secret weapon of mine is a collection of blended spices," he explained, taking a moment to clean off one of his tool knives. "Both of traditional Antivan recipes and those of my own make. A little taste of home, you might say."  
  
Before he could finish his last sentence, Albine had already retrieved the pack. Somehow, listening to Zevran talk about his spice collection was more fascinating than she imagined. "Here," she indicated the bag, handing it to him whole.  
  
"Ah, thank you, my dear lady." After digging through the old, worn leather pack, he located a small set of metal canisters. "These were among the few meager possessions I brought with me when I came to Ferelden. At some point, I had discovered that it was much easier to carry these small spice jars with me than a full amount of rations." With a distinct air of pride, he spiced half the fish and left the other half plain. "It lets me turn even the blandest gruel into a feast fit for a king." A few more turns of the spit let the spices soak deeper into the meat.  
  
Now that he had mentioned it, the spices did entice the Warden's palate. "It does smell good, I'll say." She observed him with curiosity, giving the air a sniff as a sting of spice entered her awareness. "Never had anything like this at the Tower, that's for sure."  
  
Zevran gave a mild snort as he sat before the end of the spit. "My dear, you will not find the likes of this anywhere in Ferelden." He paused to swallow a bit of saliva that had gathered in his mouth at the smell. "Quite convenient for the enterprising assassin as well, you see," he went on, giving the spit another turn and leaning back to wait for the fish to cook further. "One could easily slip a poison in between these exotic spices, and the hapless target would be none the wiser. All the better, even - the target gets to enjoy a last meal before his summary execution."  
  
Albine's nose wrinkled at the idea, and she nearly glared over the fish at the elf. "...I thought you said this /wasn't/ going to be deadly."  
  
He answered with a louder laugh, but quickly sobered. "My Warden, what sort of fool do you take me for? This poison would affect me likewise, if I did so," he pointed out.  
  
"Not if you had the antidote," Albine countered. "You could also only be adding poison to _my_ half, while you get the clean side."  
  
"Would it not, then, immediately draw suspicion to me?" asked Zevran, momentarily concealing his mild surprise at Albine's quick thinking. Perhaps not entirely concealment, though - he found himself wanting to challenge her.  
  
"It's entirely possible," Albine met his challenge, "the poison could be slow-acting, over hours, days or even weeks. Enough time, then, to throw suspicion off you. Perhaps, you could blame it on some other enemy of ours. A Darkspawn, spider, walking corpse, one of Loghain's men..."  
  
Zevran let out a mildly perturbed grunt. She had more than met his expectation, at the cost of a slice of his patience. "True as that may be, I assure you, it is not the case. Besides..." The only taste now in his mouth was ashes. "You would be mourned." There was a new solemnity in his words as he imagined, all too vividly, the reactions of their companions to the loss of Albine.  
  
Leliana would weep as she spoke words from the Chant to guide the lost Warden home to the Maker. Alistair would break down, screaming and cursing at the injustice of losing his last sibling in arms. Morrigan would bitterly observe their misfortune, as well as imply that she knew the real killer. Wynne would ask the Maker's forgiveness for not being able to save the life of one of His children, and letting a Grey Warden die when she was needed most. At last, Sten would say a somber prayer for the dead. Zevran himself would have long since crawled away to hide from the others, who would no doubt be seeking revenge. A pang of guilt at the very thought of causing such a thing shot through his heart like an arrow from one of his former fellow assassins. Biting the inner corner of his lip, he actively distracted himself with the anticipation of the cooking fish.  
  
"And aside from that," he went on, summoning up his usual light tone as he turned the spit once more. "As it so happens, I would sooner fill my belly than have the sword of one of your companions run through it."  
  
She had picked up on the change in his tone, and finally ceased her questioning. "... _You_ were the one who brought up using it to hide poison," she pointed out, watching him tend the fish.  
  
"I do not wish to kill you," he restated, much more bluntly. "How much clearer must I make that? Had I desired to do so, I promise, it would have long since already been done." The hunger in his stomach did its own part to wear away his air of pleasantry. "And, even if I _did_ desire to do so, what would it gain me? The Crows are no doubt already aware of my failure," he went on, rising to his feet to stretch his tired limbs before coming to sit back down, this time on the other side of the spit. "And, as I do hope _you_ are aware, you happen to be the one thing shielding me from them." When the smell of the fish hit his nostrils once again, he now knew it was time to remove it from the spit. "Ah, at last, it is done," he announced, with palpable relief. With the aid of a dagger, he filleted the meat, taking the spiced half for himself and setting the plain half aside for the Warden. "Tell me, my Warden, do you prefer your spices...fiery, shall we say, or more herbal?"  
  
"Herbal," said Albine, without a second thought. "Don't think I could ever get used to the stronger stuff." Her thoughts at the moment, though, were more concerned with the elf's motivations.  
  
As requested, Zevran lightly spiced Albine's half with a different jar, slicing it with his dagger and placing it in one of the wooden bowls he had pulled from inside her tent. "Here you are." Finally, he set it before her. " _A tuo piacere,_ " he said, with a soft bow of his head and a hidden smile at himself at the leftover talents from his stint undercover as a serving boy at an Antivan inn.  
  
Any hesitation she might have had before was carried away by the smell of the fish. "Maker," she mused, bringing the bowl to her lips and cooling the meat with a snap of her fingers. "If this /was/ poisoned, you'd not have much trouble killing me at all." The first mouthful had to be held there until all the flavor was absorbed into her palate.  
  
Having no such intention allowed him to take her words as the compliment they were meant to be. Together with his own sense of his work, it lit a tiny spark of pride in his chest. "All the better that it is not, no?" he asked after swallowing his first bite, "You may enjoy it as much as you wish, without fear," he reassured her, voice softening. "I hope, as much as I enjoyed making it."  
  
The new gentleness in his voice captured the Warden's attention, but she said nothing of it. Should she point it out, he might see it as her seeing through whatever facade he was trying to throw up. For now, she would enjoy his presence without question - and his culinary talents. "I do," she commented, taking a second bite to savor the same as the first. "They never made _anything_ like this at the Tower."  
  
This was a compliment in and of itself. The assassin felt a burst of confidence in his chest that curled the corners of his lips up, but he hid it behind a sip of his brandy that ended in a comforted sigh. "I still think it is absurd that that is the case. I wonder how many mages would still want to escape if their supper was palatable."  
  
"That's kind of why they don't do it," Albine answered. "The better fed we are, the more mana we've got. They feed us little more than we need to stay alive." Her next bite was taken with a noticeable possessiveness. "I overheard some Templars discussing the idea of cutting down our portions so we'd realize just how much we needed the Circle. Never mind that we never learned to prepare anything for ourselves, so those of us who /did/ escape didn't know how to feed themselves."  
  
Zevran felt his next mouthful hit his gut like a brick. He had his own memories of the Crows outright denying food to recruits, sometimes for days at a time. It was done both as punishment and to condition the fledgling assassins for the potential that such tactics be used against them. His throat squeezed a bit tighter, but he took a full swig of his brandy to force himself to swallow. "Mmm. An effective tactic, if I may say." He straightened his shoulders, taking a slightly bigger bite of his own. "Cruel...but effective." Another swig of brandy was about to touch his palate, but he was distracted by the sudden sound of Albine choking. "...My Warden, are you--...Oh dear."  
  
The poor mage was barely able to keep her fish from falling to the dirt before she began coughing furiously. Her eyes streamed with tears, and she pounded her chest with a fist to try to dislodge the offending chunk of meat.  
  
The assassin was quick on his feet to come to the Warden's aid, positioning himself behind her with his hands folded under her rib cage. "Allow me," he said as he delivered a sharp series of thumps to the soft spot until he felt her chest heave.  
  
With an ugly gagging sound, Albine coughed up the piece of fish out onto the ground nearby, gasping and wheezing for the first available breath. "Ugh...Maker's ass," she groaned, shaking the daze from her head and glancing back at Zevran. "...Thanks," she sputtered, picking her fish back up with a sigh. "...I think I need a drink."  
  
Zevran sighed with relief, but gave a mild chuckle at the irony of the crisis he averted. When Albine requested a remedy for her parched throat, though, his moment of mirth was cut short by mild shame. "Oh, _dona mia_ , I beg your pardon for my impropriety!" A bit harried, he rummaged through his bag until he found a small silver chalice. "...I regret that this is the only drinking vessel I have, my dear, but I am glad to share it."  
  
"...It's alright," Albine said, trying to ease Zevran's clearly threadbare nerves. He had already fussed over her far more than she was accustomed to. Not that she was exactly complaining, but she did not want to trouble him overmuch.  
  
He took a moment for his breathing to slow before pouring some of his brandy into the chalice, carefully so as not to spill a drop. "I feel it would be unbecoming to let such rudeness to a beautiful woman pass, least of all, one who was so kind as to spare my life." Once the vessel was filled three-quarters of the way, he reached for her hand. "Palm up, if you would, my dear."  
  
Albine did as instructed, presenting her hand to the assassin. "...You Antivans take this debt thing really seriously, don't you?" she asked.  
  
Gingerly, Zevran cupped her hand in his fingertips and nestled the goblet between her fingers. Once he had done so, he guided her into cupping the bell of the vessel. When satisfied that she had it securely in her grasp, he freed her hand. "Indeed we are, often fatally so. We are ruled by thirteen very powerful merchant families, each headed by a prince with his own Talon - that is, a single unit of the Crows ruled by one grand master." As he often did, he animated his words with gestures of his hands, as if making divisions of money. "Each one of us is to answer to that grand master, who answers only to the prince of the house his Talon has been pledged to." As he paused for breath, he noticed the Warden's expression of genuine interest, which he took as a cue to go on. "With that, and, of course, with their bottomless pockets, these princes pull virtually all the strings in the country." His tone had gone noticeably flat, and his nose had wrinkled. "Personally, I admit, I care very little for such political games, but alas, my life depended on them at the time."  
  
She snorted aloud and raised her glass. "I'll drink to that. I barely know of it and I'm already sick of it."  
  
He burst into such full laughter that he nearly had a choking fit of his own. A quick pound of his chest and a cough relieved the discomfort, allowing him to breathe again. "Ah...and I digress again. You asked of the importance of debt, of which the answer is almost insultingly simple. To not repay a debt is a grave offense. "If you wish to know precisely _how_ grave, one of my early solo missions involved a man who owed only fifty silver. 'It was about the principle,' said my client."  
  
The mention of a mission piqued Albine's interest. "What happened on that mission?"  
  
The time had come again, it seemed, to talk of his exploits. After a few more bites of fish to sate his palate, he sipped his brandy and went on. "I was nearly killed by a housemaid who mistook me for a common burglar. I was slipping around a corner to check the path ahead, and turned around just in time to see a tiny, elderly elven woman lunging at me with a cheese knife." Even now, the thought amused him. "I did have to kill her, sadly, but I do not fret over it. She had lived quite a long life for her station, and was spry for her age. Better to die fighting than wasting away in one's sick bed, I say."  
  
The entire affair nearly made Albine choke again. "...You were almost killed by a little old woman with a cheese knife while trying to kill a man over fifty silver?" She made no secret of a snort. "Just another one of your adventures, it sounds like."  
  
Zevran quietly thanked the Maker he had swallowed his brandy already - it would surely have ended up all over him from how hard he was laughing at her remarks. "Ah, yes, that _does_ seem to be a pattern." He paused to roll a kink out of his neck. "Amusing as it is in hindsight, I do remember being quite embarrassed at the time. I told no one. Not the truth, anyhow--"  
  
"What /did/ you tell them?" asked the Warden, now fully invested in the assassin's tale.  
  
He chuckled lightly at her eagerness. "Rather than a tiny elven housemaid, I was..." Tone adjusted ever so slightly to bear a more roguish quality, fitting for his fabricated narrative. "Ambushed from the shadows by a gorgeous lady bodyguard. I would have been dead, were it not for my quick reflexes. She surprised me and pinned me down... _demanded_ that I submit." There was a suggestive twinkle in his amber eyes. "Of course, I gladly did so, and more, you see...I offered her a much more pleasant introduction, in return for letting me go. She accepted..." That look keened into the focus of a hardened killer, but the rest of his expression barely changed. "...and in doing so, sealed her fate."  
  
Albine was, in truth, barely following his words. She was paying far more attention to the warmth that tone of his stirred in her chest. "...And they believed that?"  
  
A breath's pause came before his reply. He could not give an immediate answer, as he had always had his doubts of what they believed, but never dared to question them. At first, his only response was a pointed glance at her as he swallowed another mouthful of fish to loosen the tightness in his gut. "I would assume so," he finally said, lifting his slender shoulders in a shrug. "But in the end, it matters little. I finished the job, my client was satisfied, I got paid and I got to keep my life. The most desirable outcome for all. Except, of course, for my unfortunate mark. Though, it was not so terrible for him either, I imagine. His snoring was loud enough to keep him unaware of my presence. A few drops of deathroot extract on the tongue, and he slipped away before morning with the house none the wiser." A slow sip of brandy helped him to fight off the morning chill, but not before he visibly shivered.  
  
This other change in tone, though, returned her attention to full sharpness. The knowledge of the darker parts of the elf's history was churning up in her mind, stirring up a sense of sympathy for him. She knew exactly what it was to have to lie to virtually everyone she knew for self-preservation's sake - but she certainly wasn't as good at telling stories. In the moment's silence, she took the last bite of fish. Finally, she turned her now-undivided focus to him. His matter-of-fact discussion of murdering people barely fazed her as much as it used to - now, it just seemed another man trying to survive as best he could. Perhaps, she could be of assistance, she thought as she watched his naked shoulders shake. Crawling over to the pile of pelts, she took one up and threw it in his direction. "Hey, Zev," she addressed him, "Here. You're shivering."  
  
He raised his gaze at the sound of his name. "Hmm?...Oh," The offered fur was a pleasant surprise, and he eagerly wrapped himself in its warmth, sighing in relief from the nipping draft. As if to mock his efforts, the wind changed direction, sending a chill to bite at the points of his ears. With a mildly irked grunt, he gathered the edge of the pelt and threw it over his head in the manner of a hood. Now wrapped in a cozy shelter, he purred with delight. "You have my thanks as always--" his words broke into a yawn that told of his lack of sleep. "Mmm...I must be more weary than I thought."  
  
There was something easing to Albine's nerves to see the elf teetering on the edge of consciousness, wrapped in a pelt, and his cheeks stained in a deep brandy-glow. "Why not get some rest? You look like you could use it," she asked. Now that he had mentioned it, though, her own eyelids had begun to grow heavy. "Might join you, honestly...you _did_ wake me up, after all."  
  
The long period without his response was quite noticeable compared to his usual talkative nature. His remaining attention had been consumed with finishing off the rest of his fish. "Fair enough," he replied as he took a long gulp from his bottle. A deep sigh of utter indulgence spilled out from his chest as he fell back into the pelts next to her, hands resting against his visibly full belly. "Ah...this is _so_ much better--hic!--Aside from a bit of a hiccup, of course."  
  
The entire sight brought a mildly amused smile to the Warden's lips. "That's what you get for eating so fast," she offered a soft chide.  
  
He gave a lazy, content chuckle as he stretched his arms out behind his head. "Better than letting it go to waste." In truth, indulging himself like this was once a rarity. While sex was pleasurable enough, there was something truly satisfying about having his most basic needs met to a level beyond mere necessity. In being sheltered in warmth and comfort, with enough food in his stomach to feel full, and nothing demanded of him in return except his loyalty. Though, the thought did arise somewhere in his mind of this being a trap. It was easily countered, though, by the fact that Albine would never be able to spring such a sneak attack on he, the much more experienced assassin. Other ulterior motives were surely not out of the question, but whatever they were would not affect him at present. His gaze wandered toward the Warden for a moment as he gave a passing thought or two to his state. Being allowed to stay in the Warden's tent lent its own sense of security, both from the elements and any potential attackers. Lifting his head, he rolled up another pelt and tucked it behind his neck to cushion it. Once content, he let himself sink deeper into a state of repose and laced his fingers over his belly as it rose and fell with a slow purring breath. "I prefer not to let _anything_ go to waste. Least of all, such a pleasant host."  
  
"Good," Albine answered, lifting the corner of his pelt and giving it a gentle toss so it covered him. "I try to look out for everyone here. If you're with me, you're /with/ me. You do your part, I make sure you get taken care of." Her true motive, though, was the same as always - keeping his loyalty by making him feel welcome. She cared little whether he knew it or not by now, though. There was no way he could possibly think of turning on her when she was doing precisely the opposite of what he had told about his former employers.  
  
Eagerly, he tugged the fur around him and folded the other side over the top, wrapping himself up like something of an elven crepe. His ears gave a mild twitch of pleasure as he leaned back and let the furs cradle him. "I shall do whatever you ask of me, my Warden, to the best of my ability." Though he was lying down, he briefly freed an arm from the furs to offer her a salute. "And not simply because you give me warm furs and a place to rest my head. You have my gratitude, nonetheless. It's..." His eyes creased at the corners, as if in a wince. "...not often that I've been offered such simple hospitalities without some kind of catch." Letting the feeling of melancholy pass, he folded his hands against his stomach, took in a deep breath, and sighed. "But that is of no consequence. Your kindness is its own reward, and my gratitude is yours." As he looked back up at her, he could not help but notice the weariness in her eyes and the lines on her face fit for someone ten years older. Mild concern tightened his lips, and he softly clicked his tongue. "Oh," he voiced, sitting up just enough to make eye contact with her. "You look so worn down, my dear..." He gave a pat to the pelts next to him. "Come and rest, would you? If we are not going anywhere, as you say, you can afford a moment's pause for the sake of relaxation."  
  
Albine found herself with a sudden blush forming that she couldn't control. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in it..." she admitted, moving her section of the pelts over to prop herself up. True to his invitation, it was indeed quite comfortable to be nested with him among their collection of furs, especially after having had a meal more pleasant than she was used to. "Thanks for cooking, by the way, Zev."  
  
Her gratitude brought a genuine smile to the elf's face, visible by the way it reached his eyes. "You are quite welcome, my dear Warden. I do seek to please, after all." Turning his head to face her, that smile grew wider as he saw the redness in her cheeks. "Quite welcome...and quite lovely to see when your spirits have been lifted." He leaned over toward her, offering a touch of his fingertips to move her hair behind an ear as his expression softened. "These," he gently advised, "are the moments you ought to savor most. Between the slaying of Darkspawn and demons, the death and destruction, the daggers in backs and having to fight off the occasional bear or wolf that wanders into camp...you have this. Besides..." The hand that had stroked her hair now came to cup her shoulder. "You never know when death may come for you. Every chance you get to enjoy what pleasures you can take may be your last. Yes, Warden's duties do call, I understand," he went on, more matter-of-factly, "But surely there is more in you than just the silver griffon heraldry, no?"  
  
As was becoming a more frequent occurrence, Albine found herself listening intently to Zevran's advice - and immediately acceded to his wisdom, as she could find no legitimate counter. Indeed, his ideas sounded far more appealing, but the duty of her station called so loudly she could barely hear anything else. "When can I ever afford that?" she asked, her shoulder squaring into his hand. "The Blight is consuming--"  
  
"More and more of Ferelden by the day," Zevran completed her sentence as if he had predicted it. "Yes, my Warden, I am aware. But..." He turned her gaze with a gesture to the sunlight peeking through the tent flaps. "The day has just begun, as you can see." There was a certain softness in his voice, as if attempting to offer her solace. "As for the answer to your question...now. The answer is _now_." With this answer, though, he was far more firm. "Besides, with those bothersome nightmares, you need all the spare moments of rest you can get, hm?"  
  
Albine answered with a soft, affirmative grunt. "Mmm...I suppose." It was almost a breath of fresh air just to be reminded she could stop and take one. "But we'll have to get going by lunchtime," she pointed out.  
  
"A few more hours thence, yes?" Zevran rebutted, seeming even more resolved to bask in his calm. "Truthfully, you may do as you wish. I would rather not be made to move so quickly, if I had any say."  
  
"...Oh," said Albine, as if in relief. "Well, if that's the case, go ahead. I want you at your best when we do have to fight Darkspawn or demons or whatever might cross our path." With that little niggling dilemma out of the way, she began piling up pelts until they formed even more of a nest.  
  
The assassin gave a warm chuckle as he watched the Warden continue to make herself comfortable. "And there you go," he affirmed, tucking his arms behind his head. "You grant me the boon of comfort and company, and I shall remain fit to fight as you need. A win for us both, don't you agree?"  
  
She finally lay down, on her side and facing him. "...Only if you behave yourself." There was a quirk of jest in her words.  
  
This condition only made Zevran burst into full, raucous laughter that left him gasping for air. "Ah, my lovely Warden..." he said through caught breaths as he sprawled out onto his back. With a dull cough, he took back his ability to speak. "You need not worry about that, as I have often said. I will give you nothing for which you did not ask..." As he trailed off, he gave a suggestive raise of an eyebrow and a playful smirk. "But my offers _are_ always open."  
  
The subject brought Albine's mind back to sobriety, and she locked eyes with the elf as much as she could. "Zevran, I..." Her use of his full name was just another indicator of how serious her thoughts had become. "I don't know if I'm ready for that. Such things were actually...frowned upon, in the Circle." As her memories of life as an apprentice began to surface, she went silent for a moment to gather her next words. "If it did happen, it was either a secret tryst between two mages, a forbidden affair between an apprentice and a Chantry initiate, or a Templar--..." The very idea of what she had intended to say made her nearly choke.  
  
Hearing this made even Zevran's expression much less lighthearted. He sat up and reached out to touch the Warden's shoulder again. "I understand," he said, his voice much softer and more sympathetic. "Believe me, I do." Now agitated enough to sit back up, he brought her attention to him with his other hand. "If I might ask, though...were you--"  
  
"No," she answered, without hesitation. "But I knew some who were. They..." Her words suddenly began to taste like bile. "...were made Tranquil after the fact. I was told...it was because they had seduced the Templars with blood magic." She bit her cheek as she felt the urge for tears to form. "Those Templars just got moved off to some other Circle. No doubt they're still doing it."  
  
Zevran's lips had crooked into a genuine frown, and he heaved out a groaning sigh. He had known similar memories, and her speaking of her own nearly brought them back with uncanny vividness. Sinking back onto the pelts, he pressed his hands to his face and let his arms sprawl out to his sides. "Such is the nature of those with such power, it seems." Mild disdain flattened his tone.  
  
Albine found her own recollections reaching back through the years like they were yesterday's. "I still wonder sometimes, how I escaped it, I--"  
  
"Warden," Zevran hissed, sitting back up to face her. "It does not matter how you escaped it. It is that you _did._ " His tone waxed sharp and insistent, almost authoritative. "All you do with this wondering is tire yourself by day and make yourself lie awake in the night. Aside of that," he paused to shift his position, as his leg was now going numb. "Fate is far from forgiving. Question her...and she _may_ take back your good fortune."  
  
The implication of his words chilled Albine's spine colder than her own magic. "Z-zevran, are you saying I deserve--"  
  
"Maker's codpiece, no!" the elf snapped, too quickly to stop himself from doing so. "I am saying your luck could be far worse. If you are so concerned about what I am saying, have you once thought about what _you_ are?" Internally, he cursed himself for losing his temper as he had done. "When you say you wonder how you escaped it..." His words broke as he attempted to soften their delivery. "...You are implying that you should not have."  
  
"But I..." As the meaning of his words sank in, she fell uncomfortably silent. Her fingers curled, as they often did, around the hems of her sleeves, and she chewed on her words until they crumbled. "...I'm sorry for bringing it up."  
  
Zevran's nostrils flared with another soft sigh, and he shook his head. "No, no, my dear, it is no fault of yours...it was I who mentioned it first." There was something about his tone now that was far too gentle to be coming from a trained and raised killer. He then held out a hand toward her, hoping to receive hers. "Please forgive me for causing you such discomfort."  
  
Swallowing hard, Albine placed her hand, now shaking with unease, into the assassin's grip. Her throat tightened against her breath, and the upper half of her body felt colder all of a sudden.  
  
He handled her hand as delicately as if it were made of glass as he raised it to his lips, brushing them over the top of her largest knuckle. "What you deserve, my sweet, is far more pleasant things than what you have had." His hand lingered in its grasp of hers, offering it support but not restraint. "To that end, why not let our minds be blown by more favorable winds?"  
  
It never failed. That kiss of her hand brought a heat to her cheeks, and she glanced off in any direction but directly into his eyes. "E-erm...right." Though she agreed with his idea, she had none of where to begin the shift in topic. "So, uh..." Her teeth grasped hold of her bottom lip as she tried to move the conversation along faster than a snail's pace. "You're obviously better at this than me, might as well let you do the talking..."  
  
His lips were already curling into a flirtatious grin. "You like to hear me talk, do you?" he asked, coyly. "I do wonder why. Could it be the way every sound rolls off my fine silver tongue with such ease?" He demonstrated this by heavily rolling every rhotic sound more than usually done. "Or perhaps...the smooth, sultry mystique of my--"  
  
"...It's your laugh, actually." Albine was all too quick to interrupt the elf's vain display, with a joking shove back onto the pelts. "Or..." she went on, pressing a crooked finger to her chin in contemplation. "The tone you get when you're _just_ a bit angry. You just," she used a quick dropping gesture of her hands for emphasis. "Drop the whole flirting act and just kind of go really flat. Like..." Her hand went into a bit of an odd little churning motion as she conjured up her next words. "Like you'd be yelling if you actually gave a damn, but, well...you don't." The mage gave a sheepish smile and a halfhearted shrug.  
  
Hearing this actually did bring forth a crackle of laughter from the elf, enough for him to have to rest a hand on his belly to ease the sudden tightness. "Ah, very well," he said once he managed to catch a breath, "If it is my laughter that gives you pleasure, then laugh I shall." At last, he came to lie back down, but shivered at the sudden chill and buried himself under the nearest available pelts until only his head poked out. "Mmm," he purred, "It is the least I can pay you for such kindness...and such a comfortable tent." He said nothing of the rest of her words, lest she catch on to the fact that it _was_ , indeed, an act - at least, for the most part.  
  
The sight of his head sticking out of the furs amused the Warden into a smile that was more genuine. "Zev, you already know there's no need to repay me for anything," she assured him, "You're on my side. That's all I really want."  
  
Somehow, this answer did not sit as smoothly with Zevran as Albine had hoped. If all she truly wanted was an ally, she could still easily cast him off when their mission was through. The uncertainty of such a future seemed to loom heavily over him, in the form of the shadows of his former guildmasters threatening to swoop down. No longer comfortable in his position, he sat back up, but the pelts remained draped over his shoulders. "...I...actually have a question, regarding that. If, that is, you are willing to answer."  
  
"Go on," Albine directed, turning her full attention to him.  
  
"Ah, well," he began, his ears tilting back in deep thought. "Let us assume that we are successful in putting an end to this Blight, and that we do not somehow end up in the Archdemon's belly." His gaze wandered over to meet hers, but seemed to dodge direct eye contact. "What do you intend to do with me, then?"  
  
The question left the Warden somewhat perplexed - she had not thought that far ahead at all. "Why would I want to do anything with you?" she asked, folding her legs underneath her at the knee and relaxing her posture. "You sound like an old piece of armor I'd throw out when it had outlived its use."  
  
Zevran nearly cringed; the Warden certainly had a way of hitting the nail on the head of his feelings. "Surely you wouldn't have need for an assassin to follow you about, no?" His lips pursed in deep rumination, if only to hide clenching teeth as he tried to ignore the shadows of anxiety creeping in from his mind.  
  
His answer betrayed his true intentions even further. He seemed to believe he actually was nothing more than a tool to be used and discarded. As a mage, it was a feeling she understood quite well. "Well, if you _didn't_ want to stay, I wouldn't make you...but if you _did,_ I'd be glad to have you."  
  
Somehow, this young Warden had managed to render even the usually talkative Zevran speechless. A flutter had started in his heart so suddenly that it made him shiver audibly. "I..." His palate shrank away from any further words, and he found himself staring down at his knees. "T-thank you, my Warden." A practiced calming breath allowed him to gather a thought. "And I am likewise glad to hear. It is true, we may not know what tomorrow brings..." he admitted, "But for now, it is certainly a pleasant thing to hope for." It was more than just pleasant for him, though; it meant he would have safety from the Crows for a while to come, if the Warden stayed alive. This was, fortunately for her, all the incentive he needed to stay at her side and protect her in battle. A serene sigh spilled out from the elf's softly parted lips, and he slid back down under the pelts, letting himself get comfortable again.  
  
The chill of Ferelden was all but gone from the Antivan elf's awareness. A restful smile formed on his lips. "You know, we have both discovered simple pleasures today. You, the sunrise, and me, the--" He found himself barely able to finish his sentence, only wanting to bask in the thick fur pile. "Mmm, I will just let that speak for itself." Eagerly, he grabbed and tucked one pelt after another until he formed something of a warm cocoon. A bit more rolling about and adjusting his position, and he was fully swaddled. Even his head was covered, and all that was visible were the tips of his ears.  
  
The sight made Albine burst into a soft giggle. "You look like a caterpillar with elf ears," she pointed out as she grabbed another pelt to tuck under his head.  
  
He let out a tired chuckle in response. "That just means if you give me time to rest, I shall grow and change into a very handsome butterfly...also with elf ears." Said ears gave a small, amused wiggle before he broke into a rather loud yawn. Even that felt like quite an indulgence. The roll of pelts curled up into a slight crescent, loosening them from him in some places so they would not be so binding. At last, he tucked a hand in against his stomach and let the truth of his state gently sink in.  
  
He was alive, to begin with, something he had already far from expected. In that moment, he could feel the relaxed beating of his heart, hard at work at keeping him that way. To him, that sound was truly precious, now more than ever. While he enjoyed the feeling of it pounding in battle, the soft rhythms of rest were more than welcome. The shell of the pelts walled out most other sounds, leaving him to hear the sound of his stomach working just as hard. It occurred to him then that he was far too used to it growling from hunger. He was quick to sigh away such memories, though, and rubbed his full belly with some appreciation. The cold that had been long since bearing down on him had at last been banished.  
  
Something gently brushed against his shoulder, prompting him to poke his head out and glance around. What he found was not someone looking to stab him in the back, but the hand of the Warden gently rubbing it through the pelts. A sudden heat took over his cheeks, and he quickly pulled his head back in as his heart gave a throb, much like the wings of the butterfly he had joked about becoming. The humor of such a discovery made him let out a quiet snort that dissolved into a pleasant, purring sigh. Ordinarily, to have so many boons granted to him, he would have had to earn it, often with his body. Yet, here he was, safe, comfortable, and apparently favored by the Warden after having barely lifted a finger other than to be her left hand. His heart was now beating too fast to let him relax, and he sighed a bit louder.  
  
"Something wrong, Zev?" Albine asked, crawling in a tight arc around so he could see her.  
  
She heard him. Instantly, instinctively, his throat tightened around his breath. If he said anything of substance, she might get even more concerned - and more curious. "...Ah, no," he murmured softly, drawing careful, measured breaths to steady his heart as he would before a killing blow. "I am...quite content, in fact." There was a crack of fatigue in his voice. "Mmm..." he led off into another soft yawn, "Weary, but content." Carefully, he wormed his arm up in front of his face. and moved aside the bit of pelt that hung over his eyes. "If it is all the same to you, my dear, I wish to take a small repose while we still have time." At last, he blew a rather salacious kiss in her direction before retracting into the wrapping of pelts and curling up a bit tighter.  
  
The moment he stopped looking at her, Albine nursed a warm blush and a small, but growing, smile. "Right, then," she answered his request with a final, brief rub to the bump of his shoulder under the pelts. "Sleep well."  
  
In the dark chamber inside the pelts, Zevran wore a blush that matched. Somehow, this place reminded him of distant imaginings of being inside his mother's belly. It was but one of the many things he had daydreamed as he gazed at those old halla-skin gloves. One of the prostitutes that raised him in her stead told him that the young Dalish woman would lie in her bed between attending clients, rubbing her belly and singing elven songs to him. According to one of the others, he was quite active and even a bit vain - even before he was born, he demanded quite the attention. Some days he would kick and squirm until his mother sang to him. The thought brought an easy smile to the assassin as he imagined himself ever being so innocent. His mind wandered on to thoughts of the same soft leather wrapping her hands as they caressed the swollen womb that shielded him from the cruelty and harshness of the world on the other side, gentle melodies on her painted lips.  
  
Fortunately, he had learned the melody by heart before he knew how to hold a broom, the simplest duty of a whorehouse urchin. He would hum it himself while sweeping up the debris from the floor, and it kept him in a steady working rhythm. Over time, he found himself adding to the tune, splitting up some notes into vibratos and refrains.  
  
The Crows had tried to make him forget. Every time he was caught humming, he was punished - whippings, beatings, the cage, and that old favorite method of denying him supper. It didn't stop him, though - he would just hum quieter, or tap out the melody, anything to record it and lock it away deeper inside his heart. The moment the young fledgling of House Arainai was allowed to fly free at all, it was with that strange wordless song.  
  
It was the same song he now softly hummed to himself, just barely audible by his own sensitive ears. That comforting image was more vivid than ever, now, especially now that he knew his guild would not be able to trouble him without going through the Warden and her allies. Under that knowledge, his eyelids weighed heavy enough to close. His soft humming wore off into a purring sigh, and then into gentle snoring.  
  
_Author's Note:_ Zevran's song is found in World of Thedas, Volume 2. Incidentally, Zevran doesn't know the lyrics. 

_Elgara vallas, da'len_   
_Melava somniar_   
_Mala taren aravas_   
_Ara ma'desen melar_   
  
_Iras ma ghilas, da'len_   
_Ara ma'nedan ashir_   
_Dirthara lothlenan'as_   
_Bal emma mala dir_   
  
_Tel'enfenim, da'len_   
_Irassal ma ghilas_   
_Ma garas mir renan_   
_Ara ma'athlan vhenas_   
_Ara ma'athlan vhenas_

Sun sets, little one,  
Time to dream  
Your mind journeys,  
But I will hold you here.  
  
Where will you go, little one  
Lost to me in sleep?  
Seek truth in a forgotten land  
Deep with in your heart.  
  
Never fear, little one,  
Wherever you shall go.  
Follow my voice--  
I will call you home.  
I will call you home.


End file.
